White House Slayer
by Beatrice Otter
Summary: Chosen has a big impact on Donna Moss.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I've got more in mind for this story, but I have no idea when it will get written. Since this pretty much stands on its own, I decided to post it. Feel free to comment with where you think it should go from here.

* * *

Donnatella Moss walked through the familiar halls of the West Wing, noting all the unfamiliar faces. It had been weird to get the visitor pass clipped to her jacket, after working here for seven years. She'd be getting a new staff pass in a few days, but for now …. She checked her watch; she'd made sure to get here in plenty of time, but it was time to end her little ramble. She headed for one of the many conference rooms, as she'd been instructed. The blinds on the windows were closed; not unusual, as the conference rooms were often used to discuss sensitive information. She took a careful grip on the handle and opened the door.

"Mister President," she said in some surprise; surely, with the inauguration of his successor only days away Bartlett had more important things to be doing? He was seated at the head of the conference table, leaning back in his chair.

"Donna," he said with a smile. "So glad you could make it. Please, have a seat." He gestured to a chair.

"Well, the invitation wasn't exactly phrased as a request," Donna said, tucking her briefcase beneath her chair as she sat down. "It was also somewhat lacking in explanations." She looked curiously at the two men talking in low voices at the foot of the table.

"Yes, I know," President Bartlett said. "I apologize for that, but unfortunately I have little more information to give you. A few days ago I got a call direct from the Queen of Great Britain, asking me to listen to a presentation from an organization I've never heard of before, called the Royal Council of Watchers, and comply with any requests they might have. They requested you here while they made their presentation, and have consistently refused to say anything until we're all here."

"Really?" Donna frowned. It took a great deal of chutzpah to keep the leader of the free world in the dark. She checked her watch. "So now that I'm here, will they get started?"

"I'm afraid we're still waiting for another person, Miss Moss," one of the visitors said. He looked to be at least seventy years old, with iron-gray hair and an upper-class British accent, and didn't seem to be putting much weight on the elegant cane he held.

The door swung open behind her, and Donna turned around to see Toby Ziegler walk in, the door swinging closed behind him. She caught a glimpse of Secret Service agents stationed outside the door, but they didn't follow him in, which was strange given the fact that Toby was scheduled to go to prison in less than a month. True, it was for leaking information rather than a violent crime, but the Secret Service wasn't in the habit of leaving the President alone with felons of any kind.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Toby said to the President.

"It wasn't exactly me," Bartlett said, "but close enough. Have a seat." He gestured to a chair across from Donna.

Toby started around the table, only then noticing the men at the far side. He came to an abrupt stop, face tightening. Donna knew him well enough to distinguish this from his usual crabbiness; something was seriously wrong. "Whatever they want, the answer is no." He turned around and headed back towards the door.

"Mister Ziegler, the Council's had a rather extreme change in management and policy since you left us," said the elderly gentleman who'd spoken to Donna. "I think you will have no objections to our current protocols."

Toby snorted. "Yeah. Pull the other one, FitzHugh."

"You haven't considered why we have requested Miss Moss's presence."

Toby froze, hand clenching the doorknob. "No. She's too old." His voice was flat. If his fear hadn't been so palpable, Donna would have taken offense.

"Alas, that is no longer the case, Mister Ziegler. Things have changed." FitzHugh's voice softened. "Please listen to our proposal. If, when we've said our piece, you still wish to reject our offer, we'll leave with no threat of reprisal or manipulation. But you do need to hear us out."

Donna frowned. Who were these people and what had they done that Toby reacted so negatively to them? All things considered, their promise of no reprisals or manipulation didn't reassure her much. Not if they were brazen enough to mention the possibility in the White House in the presence of the sitting president.

"Toby, what is this about?" President Bartlett asked, steel in his voice.

"What have they told you so far?" Toby countered, facing him, arms folded.

"Nothing. They insisted on waiting for you. I'm here because the Queen of Great Britain asked me to listen to them."

Toby squeezed his eyes closed. "I'm going to sound like an utter lunatic, but here goes. Demons, vampires, witches, all that stuff is real. They've been around longer than we have, and most humans don't stand a chance against them on their own. Several thousand years ago someone gave pieces of a demon's power—strength, speed, healing, natural fighting skills, instincts, et cetera—to a girl. She then went out hunting the demons, and when she died, her supernatural abilities were passed on to the next girl in line, and that line has continued down throughout the centuries. But strength and speed aren't enough to kill a lot of demons; you also need knowledge, which is where the Watchers come in. They're supposed to train and support the Slayer—that's the girl's title—in her fight. Unfortunately, power tends to corrupt, and the fact that each Slayer tends to have a very short life made the Council treat her as an expendable asset. They're more caught up in their internal power struggles than they are in actually doing their jobs and helping to fight evil."

"And they're saying _I'm_ this mystical girl who's supposed to fight demons?" Donna raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Wow. And I always thought fighting Republicans was hard."

Toby snorted, but seemed to relax a little.

"Toby," the President said mildly, "please don't take this the wrong way. But are you high?"

"He's not high, sir," said FitzHugh mildly. "As you should know, given the way your demon-experiment program—I believe you called it the Initiative?—went arse-up and had to be bailed out by the Slayer some five years ago."

"We've been _experimenting on demons_?" Toby said incredulously. He swung around to face President Bartlett. "Why? How _stupid_ can you possibly get?"

"Toby!" the President snapped. "I don't even believe in demons at the moment, and I sure as _hell_ haven't been authorizing experiments on something I don't believe in." He pointed to a chair. "Sit. You're not leaving until this whole thing has been explained to my satisfaction."

Toby looked at him with mistrust, but sat in the chair indicated.

"Mister President," FitzHugh said delicately, "if you truly were not aware of the Initiative project, might I suggest that you do some research? The survivors should have all the proof you need regarding the existence of demons and the slayer. It was a military project, we believe run by your army, although the woman directly in charge of it was a civilian scientist named Doctor Maggie Walsh. I would suggest contacting an Agent Riley Finn for details—he was by far the most trustworthy and competent of the survivors of the disaster. He and his team are currently fighting demons in—" he turned to the other man, a young gentleman with slicked back hair.

"Equador, sir," the aide said.

"Equador. Yes, that's right, that nest of Fyarls." FitzHugh turned back to the President. "I'm afraid, sir, that we assumed you to be well aware of the existence of demons, and brought none of the standard proofs or demonstrations with us to show our veracity. Until you can check with your own people, you'll just have to take this on faith. But demons _do_ exist, and Miss Moss _is_ a slayer."

"We do have one demonstration to make at this time," the aide pointed out.

FitzHugh glanced at him. "Ah? Oh, yes, of course, please proceed, Mister Marsham."

"With your permission, sir?" Marsham said to the President, hand straying to the breast of his suit coat.

"Yeah, sure." The president waved a hand. "_This_ I've got to see."

Marsham reached into his jacket, and pulled out a knife. Donna stiffened and opened her mouth to call out for the Secret Service, but Toby put his hand on her arm and shook his head.

"How the _hell_ did you get a knife through security?" the President demanded.

"Magic," Toby said sourly.

"Toby, this is no time for jokes!"

"I wasn't joking, Mister President!"

"Mister Ziegler is quite correct, Mister President," FitzHugh said calmly. "You can relax. There was no way for your Secret Service to detect its presence given the level of spells concealing it, and we have no ill designs on anyone in this room. Marsham?"

"Of course, sir." Marsham was holding it by its blade, ready to throw it.

Donna tensed. Light glinted off the blade…and she caught it. "You threw a knife at my head!"

"And you caught it," FitzHugh replied with an air of great patience, leaning on his cane. "My dear girl, you are a Slayer. Even untrained, your reflexes and coordination are far greater than those of your average human. Given the fact that you were looking at the man who threw the knife, the chances of you missing it were so small as to be almost non-existent."

"That doesn't give you the right to throw cutlery around at unsuspecting people," Donna objected.

"How else were we to convince you?" Marsham asked.

"I don't believe you now!"

"But you aren't sure we're wrong," FitzHugh said. "Tell me, Miss Moss, have you been having strange dreams, lately? Dreams that seem more real than your waking life? Slayers often have prophetic dreams, and the first few months are filled with the lives of those who went before. Are your senses sharper? Do you need to turn on the lights as early in the evening? Has your normal exercise seemed easier? Have your … appetites increased?"

"My _appetites_?" Donna asked, appalled. At that last question, yes, but … Josh had been complaining since she'd moved in with him that she never turned the lights on, and the dreams … could fit. She shook her head. The laundry list of 'slayer symptoms' was so vague as to be meaningless. "What do you mean by 'appetites'?"

"Slayers often have an increased hunger, for food and," Marsham hesitated, blushing slightly, "and other things."

"Okay, I think we're done here for today, gentlemen," President Bartlett broke in. "I don't think your line of questioning is appropriate, and even if Donna was in no danger, I don't like people who throw knives around."

"I do apologize for that, Mister President," FitzHugh said with a nod of his head. "But first, may I address the direct point of this meeting? Mister Ziegler," he turned to Toby, "how long do you think Miss Moss will survive, as a Slayer without even the slightest bit of training and assistance? A month? Three?"

"What?" Donna blurted.

Toby looked like he'd bit into something sour. "She's smart and resourceful."

"Five or six, then, if she's lucky," FitzHugh said.

"And that really is the end of today's meeting." President Bartlett stood up and leaned on the table. "I don't like people who make threats."

"I am not threatening her." Fitzhugh leaned forward on his cane. "Slayers are targets for every demon, witch, or warlock with a desire for a big name, and the forces of evil are drawn to places where their enemies congregate. I am pleasantly surprised that she has not so far encountered anything dangerous, but I am under _no_ illusions that it will last. Once evil things start coming for her, she will be a sitting target, and she will continue to be one until she receives both physical training and education in her calling. If she is to survive, she must be taught. And Mister Ziegler is the only one we have who could do so, and he cannot do it from inside a jail cell. We are asking you to pardon him as you leave office, so that he may be free to pursue his calling as a Watcher. As Miss Moss's Watcher."

"Why me?" Toby asked. "If you'll recall, I _left_ the Watchers a long time ago. I'm not exactly going to follow your rules, and I know you've got a lot of people with more training than I've got, who would be honored to Watch the Slayer."

"Unfortunately, that is no longer the case," Marsham said. "You are familiar with the First Evil from your training, I presume?"

"Non-corporeal, manipulative, priests called the Bringers," Toby said. "So?"

"So, there was a power shift a year and a half ago in which the First Evil gained more power for direct influence in this world," Fitzhugh said. "It promptly ordered the Bringers to assassinate as many Potential Slayers and Watchers as they could; the only reason Miss Moss was spared was because they were going in order through the primary and secondary Potentials—that is," he turned to the President, "the ones most likely to be Called—and hadn't yet gotten to the tertiary Potentials, of which Miss Moss was one. Along the way, they blew up the Council holdings, where most active Watchers lived and worked. The Slayer was able to stop them and seal the Sunnydale Hellmouth through which the First was manifesting, but she was only able to do so by Calling _all_ the surviving Potentials at once."

"I didn't think that was _possible_," Toby said, impressed.

"Neither did anyone else, but she did it." FitzHugh shrugged. "I'm sure you can all see the obvious problems."

"You've got a lot of Slayers on your hands, and no one to train them, so you're recruiting everyone you can get your hands on." Bartlett had sat back down somewhere during FitzHugh's speech.

"Exactly," FitzHugh said. "We've gathered as many Slayers, Watchers, and Watcher trainees as we possibly can to a few key locations and started schools there to give them the training they require, but most Slayers are in their teens, and so relocating them is relatively easy. For the few who are in later stages of life, things are rather more difficult. They can't always just pack up and move across the world to the nearest center. For Miss Moss, if Mister Ziegler cannot be her Watcher, the nearest training facility would be the one at the Cleveland Hellmouth."

"There's an entrance to Hell in Cleveland?" Donna shook her head. "That explains a lot about my cousins." She imagined moving to Cleveland. She'd have to give up her new job as the First Lady-elect's chief of staff, and leave Josh … she just couldn't see herself doing either, even if she did believe FitzHugh's stories.

"What about the archives?" Toby said.

FitzHugh grimaced. "We're not sure. We think it still exists, but we've not been able to access them—all the keys were lost." He turned to the President. "As a protective measure, the archives were not physically located on this plane of existence; they were in a self-contained pocket of reality in which time passes far slower than it does on Earth. That protected the books from harm and preserved them through the centuries. But without the key, even if they did survive they are inaccessible. We hope to get them back eventually, but it may take some time."

"I see," the President said. He leaned back in his chair. "You want me to pardon a former speech-writer so he can teach the new First Lady's Chief of Staff to fight vampires."

"And other demons," Marsham said, nodding. Both he and his boss looked as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say.

"All other factors being considered, it's the only reasonable chance for Miss Moss to both continue with her current life _and_ continue to be alive," FitzHugh said. "Unfortunately, word that there are now a lot of poorly-trained Slayers around has gotten out to the demon community, and the head-hunts have started. She really does need training, as soon as possible."

"What about facilities and resources?" Toby asked.

"Fortunately, we were able to regain access to the Council's funds almost immediately," FitzHugh said. "The treasurer was on vacation when the Council was destroyed. We've located and secured a warehouse that can easily be converted into a training facility for your use; if you can find a location that suits you better, you would be free to choose it instead. As for texts, the destruction of the Council and the loss of the archives was a severe blow. There simply aren't enough copies of anything to go around. We're scanning the most useful volumes that we have access to into the computer and burning them to disc for easy distribution; you would of course get copies of those as each became available."

"Would I have to put up with a lot of the Council's crap?"

FitzHugh snorted. "Frankly, old chap, as long as you keep the girl alive, we're too busy just trying to get by to care much how you do it. Even if we had the leisure and manpower to actively interfere, we wouldn't blindly set up the old system again. To be quite blunt, most of those who survived the Council's destruction did so because they'd either quit like you yourself did or they'd been purged by Travers and his cronies."

"Archibald Travers was still running things?" Toby raised an eyebrow. "He'd have been, what, in his nineties?"

"No, the head of the Council was his nephew Quentin Travers," FitzHugh said. "Who was frankly even more of a pillock than his uncle was."

"I didn't think that was possible," Toby said sardonically.

"Yes, well, Quentin achieved it the old-fashioned way. Through hard work and dedication." FitzHugh waved it off. "But enough of this. Are you willing to do your duty?"

Toby shrugged. "Assuming the President grants the pardon, it's not like I've got much of a choice, is it?"

"Good man," FitzHugh said. "Now that your adolescent rebellious phase is over and done with, I'm sure you'll do quite well."

Donna's mind boggled at the thought of dour, staid Toby Ziegler in an adolescent rebellious phase. Then again, given FitzHugh's age, anyone under thirty-five probably looked like an adolescent.

FitzHugh turned to face President Bartlett. "Well, Mister President?"

"And don't I get a say in any of this?" Donna asked. "It is my life you're arranging, after all."

"My apologies, Miss Moss," FitzHugh said with a slight bow. "Of course you have a choice. You can stay here with Mister Ziegler as your Watcher; you can go to Cleveland (or to another of our schools) and receive training there; you can stay here with no training and live an exciting life, until it kills you. In an ideal world there would be more options, but we unfortunately live in the real world in which that is not the case."

President Bartlett folded his arms. "You haven't convinced me that Slayers and demons actually exist, yet."

Donna blinked; FitzHugh and Toby had been so serious in discussing this whole thing that she'd kinda forgotten she didn't really believe them, yet.

"But you will look into the Initiative?" FitzHugh said. "And once it's been confirmed that they do exist?"

"_If_ it's confirmed, I'll be pardoning Toby," the President said. "I'll also be giving the President-Elect a heads-up about things that go bump in the night."

"As long as he understands that such things are dangerous and best left to the professionals to handle, that's probably a good idea," FitzHugh said with a nod. "Meanwhile, are there any other questions I might answer?"

"Donna?" the President asked. She shook her head.

"I think that's everything, Mister FitzHugh," Bartlett said. "If I find you're telling the truth, I'll be in touch."

"Thank you, Mister President," FitzHugh said with a slight bow. He gestured to Marsham, who pulled a stack of files out of the brown leather briefcase at his side.

"Here are the details on the training facility and the Council's new organizational setup, as well as the most current intelligence we have," Marsham said. "Contact numbers are included if you have any questions."

As the door closed behind them, President Bartlett turned his whole attention to Toby. "Demons?" Donna was impressed by the evenness of his tone.

Toby shrugged. "Yeah, they exist. But would you have believed me if I came up to you and started the whole spiel out of the blue, or would you have thrown me in the looney bin?"

The President cocked his head. "Point. I'm still not sure that isn't the right thing to do. But the two of you have some talking to do, and I need to go check up on this whole business. Donna, I'll let you know if they're right about the existence of demons." He grabbed his cane. "I'm sure you can both show yourselves out when you're done talking."

"Of course, Mister President," Donna said, standing up as he left.

"So, what's your position in the Santos administration going to be?" Toby asked once he was gone.

"I'm Mrs. Santos' chief of staff," Donna said. "Will this whole 'slayer' thing interfere with that?"

Toby shook his head. "It shouldn't. It's not like you're on the President's staff; you should have more free time than you did as Josh's assistant. We can work the training on your time off. You'll probably feel the urge to patrol occasionally, but it's not like DC is a hotbed of demon activity, so you shouldn't have too many problems."

"Okay," Donna said. She checked her watch. "I've got to get back to the office—I have a meeting with Mrs. Santos in an hour."

"Right." Toby stood. "I'll get in touch with you about training once I've looked over this stuff. Just … don't go out alone, particularly at night, until we've got something worked out, okay?"

Donna blinked. "Right."

"And if you've got any jewelry with crosses, wear it." He headed out the door, picking up his Secret Service escort along the way.

Donna grabbed her case and followed. "That really works?"

"For some demons." Toby shrugged. "It'll slow them down, make them flinch, at least. Might give you time to get away."

"What if I were Jewish, would a Star of David work?"

"No. It's actually originally an occult symbol, so it has some power from that, but it doesn't directly invoke the presence of the Powers That Be the way a cross or crucifix does. For the Jewish equivalent, you want a tefillin. You might know it as a phylactery."

"One of those tiny cases with a fragment of the Torah inside?"

"The Shema, yes," Toby said. He stopped, putting on his coat and gloves. "Look, you can get my information easily. Do you have a card or anything so I know how to get ahold of you?"

"Sure," Donna said, pulling one of her new cards out of her purse. "The office line won't work until after the inauguration, obviously."

"Obviously." Toby slipped it into his pocket. "I'll check out the training room situation and get back to you on it."

"Toby, I still don't really believe all this is actually real," Donna said.

Toby looked away, keeping his voice carefully level. "Well, first let's see what the President digs up on the Initiative, and if that isn't enough I'll see if I can arrange a live demonstration."

"Wouldn't that be dangerous?" Donna protested.

"Would anything else convince you?" Toby said sarcastically.

"Good point." Donna finished putting on her gloves. "I'll see you, then."


	2. Chapter 2: Spandex and GoGo Boots

AN: So, after almost eight months, part two is finally ready to go. Sorry for the wait, folks. There will probably be more parts, but I'm planning on each part being relatively self-contained and ending at a logical stopping place, so don't worry about it being a WIP.

* * *

Donna threaded her way through the organized chaos that was the new administration's temporary HQ. She didn't remember it being this bad eight years ago for the Bartlett administration, but that was probably due to the difference between Josh and Leo as chiefs of staff. Nobody had ever accused Josh of being neat or organized, and his new aide wasn't broken in yet. Though Donna wasn't sure the new girl would ever be able to keep Josh in line the way she had.

"So, what did they want?" Josh asked as she settled in to the corner set aside for the First Lady's staff, which so far consisted only of herself. To an uncritical observer, he didn't look any different than he had before they went on vacation, but nine years of experience had taught Donna the difference between normal obsessive Josh and overwhelmed, stressed out, about to snap Josh. And she was relieved to see the former, for a change.

"It was personal, actually," Donna said. "And nothing to do with the switchover. I'll tell you about it later, after they get back to me—the President wants some follow up on it before any decisions are made."

"President Bartlett _himself_ was there? And it's personal?" Josh seated himself on the edge of her desk.

"Yes," Donna said. "You'll hear about it sooner or later, but right now I have to get ready for my three o'clock with Mrs. Santos, which begins in less than half an hour." She pulled out her file drawer and began pulling out what she needed. Josh stood up, but didn't go away. "Oh," she said. "There is one thing for you. Toby may be getting a pardon, and if he does President Bartlett will want to talk with the President-Elect about the details of something called the Initiative. You should probably be there."

"What kind of Initiative?" Josh asked.

"You'll find out if there's something to tell." Donna flipped open one of the folders. "Now, shoo. Some of us have actual work to do. And I know you're the boss-man now, but I'm sure if you look hard you can find something to occupy you."

"Right," Josh said. He hesitated, then swooped in to kiss her on the cheek. "Dinner at six thirty?"

"Sound good," Donna said, smiling up at him. She wasn't really used to being a couple, yet, but she sure did like it.

* * *

"Donnatella Moss." Donna cradled the phone against her shoulder while she flipped through a resume—she really needed to get her staff in place by the time they moved in to the White House.

"Please hold for the President," said the voice on the other end of the line.

"Sure," Donna said, setting the folder down. It only took a few seconds for President Bartlett to come on the line.

"Donna!"

"Mister President," she replied, glancing around. Everyone was too busy to pay attention to anyone else's business. "What's the word on the thing?"

"I've got a three-star general in my office right now. He's trying to explain to me how the United States Army could set up a concealed base below a United States city, in conjunction with the National Intelligence Directorate, for the purposes of performing medical experiments on 'hostile sub-terrestrials,' otherwise known as demons, _without notifying the President of the United States_. Even _after_ the project created a Frankenstein monster that nearly killed everyone there before a young lady, known as the Slayer, managed to take it out."

Donna sagged back in her chair. "Oh." She'd almost managed to make herself forget the meeting yesterday, or at least convince herself that nothing had come of it.

"I've got an Agent Riley Finn on the next plane to DC to give a more in-depth briefing on just what the Hell—literally—was going on there. He'll be here tomorrow, as will Toby; you and President-Elect Santos should be here for it."

"Josh, too," Donna said.

There was a pause. "While I have significant disagreements with the way a lot of this has been handled, I do think the existence of demons should be kept as quiet as possible. The Initiative is shut down by now, aside from Captain Finn's demon-fighting team which practically runs itself runs itself; Santos needs to know about it, but I doubt he'll have any real interaction with it. He shouldn't need his chief of staff in on it. You can come in to meet with Abby's staff to prepare for the change, and then slip over to the Oval without much fanfare. If Santos comes by himself, it's just a courtesy call. Josh comes over with him, it's a strategy meeting of some importance. People will notice it."

"It's not just the chief of staff thing," Donna said. "We're living together. He's going to need to know why Toby's hanging around all of a sudden. And I don't want him to think I'm crazy when I tell him."

"Fair enough," President Bartlett said. "I'll get my staff to set it up. I will see you tomorrow, Donna."

"Yes, sir," she said, and hung up. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Somehow, the day's work just didn't seem as important.

* * *

"So, what's this mysterious meeting about?" Josh asked as they drove over to the White House in her car the next day. He'd been trying to get it out of her since the meeting had been arranged.

"Demons, superheroes, and the mouth of hell," Donna said.

"Fine. You don't wanna tell me, I get that." Josh paused. "It has to do with the Republican response to the new welfare reform thing, doesn't it?"

"No, Josh, it has nothing to do with Welfare," Donna said. Her fingers flexed on the steering wheel, and she heard a creak.

"What was that?" Josh asked.

"Nothing," Donna said, forcing herself to relax as she turned in to the driveway for the West Wing parking lot. "Look," she said, digging out her ID for the guard. "If you can wait another half hour, President Bartlett will tell us everything we need to know."

"Does CJ know what this 'Initiative' thing is?" Josh asked as Donna took her ID back and drove in to the parking lot.

"I highly doubt it," Donna said.

"So, what, the incoming President's Chief of Staff needs to know, but the current Chief of Staff doesn't?" Josh fumbled with his seatbelt as Donna pulled into a parking spot. "That makes no sense. CJ's gotta know something."

"You're not here as the Chief of Staff," Donna said. "And no, CJ doesn't need to know. So don't bug her about it, okay?"

"Okay, fine, be that way." Josh waved it off as they walked towards the building. "You do realize that I'm going to go absolutely insane, wondering why all the cloak-and-dagger, right? I'm going to sit there through a pointless meeting with CJ, wondering what this is all about, and go stark raving mad."

"Yes, but how would we tell the difference, Josh?" It was weak, and not up to their usual standards of banter, but Donna was too nervous to bring herself to care all that much. "I'm going to tell CJ you said that, by the way."

"What, that I'm going to go nuts? She'd agree with you that I already am."

"That you think today's meeting with her is a waste of time," Donna said, presenting her ID to the guards at the entrance to the West Wing and signing in.

"Hah, hah, very funny," Josh said. "See you in half an hour."

"See you."

* * *

Donna spent the meeting with Mrs. Bartlett's chief-of-staff alternating between wishing it were over already and wishing they had more time; she'd never worked much with the First Lady's staff, and the differences between their job and the President's staff were just big enough to get her into trouble. On the other hand, each administration basically made it up as they went along, figuring out what worked with the people involved; it wasn't like there was a handbook anywhere, which meant there wasn't anything that was absolutely wrong, besides getting in the way of the President's staff. When the clock finally showed that the half-hour was up, it was a relief to get to it.

They weren't meeting in the Oval or the situation room; that would have been too conspicuous. Donna wasn't surprised to find that neither Josh nor the President had arrived in the conference room yet. Like the previous day, the blinds were closed. Josh was already there, as were FitzHugh, his aide, and three Army officers she didn't know. One was a general, one looked like an aide, and one was a Major with the look of a combat soldier to him. Toby and Josh were on the side of the table closest to the door; the Council and Army guys were on the far side of the table, on opposite corners.

Josh was practically vibrating with anticipation. "Donna!" he said, as the door closed behind her. "You didn't say Toby was involved!"

"I did, too," Donna protested. "I told you he might be getting a pardon."

"Right," Josh said, "but you didn't say he was involved with the military."

"I'm not," Toby said. "Though I wish I could say the same thing about the Council." He shot a glare at FitzHugh which the older man met with equanimity.

"'Council?'" Josh asked. "I thought you said the thing was called the Initiative?"

"No," FitzHugh said. "That particular brand of idiocy belonged entirely to the US Army."

"Like you in the Council haven't done stupider things," Toby shot back.

"Not under the present administration," FitzHugh said coolly. "And are you including yourself in that condemnation, as you'll be joining us?"

"British?" Josh said, glancing between them. He swung back to Donna. "And you said all this was personal. I can't wait to hear _this_ story. Y'know, that line you gave me in the car about demons and superheroes is starting to sound more plausible all the time."

Toby raised an eyebrow at Donna.

"Well, I had to tell him _something_ to shut him up," she replied defensively.

"What, is it true?" Josh glanced between them, face lit up like a Christmas tree. "I know you're not a demon, Donna, does that make you a superhero? Will you start walking around in spandex and go-go boots and a cape?"

"In your dreams, Joshua."

"Yeah, you said it, Donnatella." Josh smirked. "Please tell me your superhero name won't be something totally lame."

Behind him, the major was watching the exchange with amusement and perhaps a touch of something like nostalgia, while the general and his aide consulted in low voices.

Donna raised an eyebrow. "I'm not going to have a superhero name, Josh."

"No, but as I understand it you will have a superhero _title_."

Donna turned. Bartlett stood in the doorway, Santos by his side.

"Everybody here?" Bartlett strode into the room, using a cane but treating it more like a prop than a necessity. A Secret Service agent shut the door behind the two men. "Good. You all know me, and I assume you've heard of President-Elect Santos. This is Josh Lyman, my former deputy chief of staff and the President-Elect's current chief of staff. He was flirting with Donna, who was his assistant when he worked for me but moved on to bigger and brighter things and is now Mrs. Santos' chief of staff, and from all accounts doing a fine job. Toby Ziegler _used_ to be the head of my communications department, before he leaked classified information to the press; I'll be pardoning him at the request of the Watcher's council."

Bartlett stalked around to the head of the table. "Over here we have General Bauer, who among other things was one of the people in overall charge of a rather stupid and dangerous project called the 'Initiative' that was so dark even _I_ was kept out of the loop. Major Riley Finn is one of the tragically few soldiers involved to survive the predictable destruction of that project. Mister FitzHugh, behind them, is a member of the Watcher's Council, an international Non-Governmental Organization that no one's ever heard of except the Queen of Great Britain, and, apparently, Toby Ziegler. Now, let's get this show on the road." He took a seat, and the rest of the room followed. "Mister FitzHugh?"

The briefing that followed was a concise, well-organized summation of the history and current state of the supernatural world, and Donna's place in it. Josh and the President-Elect were appropriately disbelieving. FitzHugh's assistant brought out props and spells for evidence, and at one point handed Donna a two foot long four-by-four and asked her to break it in half with her bare hands, which she was able to do without too much effort, much to her surprise.

"Guess we know who's going to be opening any sealed jars in our household," Josh had muttered to her as he inspected one of the halves.

"Guess so," Donna said, smiling at the 'our household.' Yes, she was a liberated woman of the twenty-first century and didn't need a man to validate her, but that didn't mean she didn't appreciate the perks of having one at her disposal.

General Bauer followed the Council's report with a briefing that was a bit drier and used a _lot_ more weasel-words. Donna spent much of it wincing as she decoded Army jargon to get a glimpse of the horrors behind it. The major—his name was Finn—followed with an addendum about current US involvement in demon-fighting, complete with a list of apocalypses averted with their help.

"I can see why you thought I should hear this immediately," the President-Elect said to President Bartlett once Finn was done. "It's a lot to swallow. I'm glad I'm not hearing it on my first day in office."

"Be glad you're not learning about it in your _last_ month in office," the President replied, frowning at General Bauer.

"Oh, absolutely." Santos shook his head. He turned to FitzHugh. "Thank you for a most comprehensive—and entertaining—briefing, Mister FitzHugh."

"Thank you for your attention, Mister President-Elect," FitzHugh said. "May I enquire as to your intentions towards the supernatural world, once you take office?"

"I'll need some time to think it over," Santos replied. "It's not something I want to make a snap judgment on, you understand. But at this point, I think it's fairly clear that the current level and type of involvement works far better than the previous one; I certainly won't be changing it without a lot of thought."

"We appreciate any consideration you can bring to the subject," FitzHugh replied. "If you've any questions or concerns regarding our work or anything supernatural, please don't hesitate to call on us." He handed over business cards to Santos, Bartlett, and Donna. "This is the direct line to the new council head, Doctor Rupert Giles, in London. The numbers on the back are the emergency lines for the London and Cleveland offices, respectively. They're always manned. Miss Moss, while you're more than welcome to use any of these lines if necessary, we would appreciate it if you would work through your Watcher if at all possible."

Donna glanced over at Toby. "Right, she said," taking it gingerly. Wow. It wasn't just an "in theory," now; she had the hotline to HQ. Guess she really was a slayer.

President Bartlett glanced at his card. "Well, if we need you, we know how to get in touch."

FitzHugh took the hint. "Thank you for your time, Mister President," he said as his assistant gathered their things.

"General Bauer, you are dismissed," President Bartlett said. "Major Finn, thank you for your time."

Once they were out of the room and the door closed again, Santos turned to President Bartlett. "While it undoubtedly would have been better if you'd been informed of the project as it was happening, I'm glad it's out in the open where we can keep our eye on it, now."

"And on everyone who was involved," Bartlett agreed. "If I'd known about that 'Initiative' of theirs, I'd never have allowed it—which is a damn good reason for them not to tell me. Still, it's good you know going into this that you need to keep the NID on a _short_ leash. It took me too long to learn that one, and it looks like I didn't do a good enough job of it even so."

"I thought the NID was supposed to be a civilian oversight group to keep the _military_ from playing fast-and-loose, not the other way around," Josh said. "That's what they're always saying, anyway."

"Gee, Josh, lying in Washington," Toby replied. "Say it ain't so."

"I'll definitely be keeping an eye on the situation," Santos said.

Josh checked his watch. "You should probably be heading back for that meeting with Johansen that got bumped, sir."

"Right," Santos replied. "You and Donna and Toby probably have a lot to discuss, but I'll need you back at the office for the thing with Vinnick." He stood up. "Mister President." He nodded his head to Bartlett and left.

"Donna, you have my congratulations," President Bartlett said. "And my condolences. If there's anything you need to help you with your new calling, don't hesitate to ask. You can use this room as long as you need, today."

"Thank you, Mister President, that's very thoughtful of you," Donna said with a smile. She, Josh, and Toby stood as he followed Santos out of the room.

"So, Donnatella the Vampire Slayer," Josh said. "Nice ring to it. And Toby gets a pardon to be her Watcher. But, you know, obviously it's not gonna be a full-time gig, as she already _has_ a life. So how's all this going to work?"

"There's a lot of other Slayers out there who can take care of hunting down the big threats and preventing apocalypses," Toby said, perching on the edge of the table. "I don't think there's any need to go looking for trouble. All I'm worried about is honing Donna's natural abilities and giving her enough training that she can survive anything that comes looking for a fight. I'm getting a training facility set up, and I expect we'll be working for an hour a day for the foreseeable future. I'd like more, but I know how crazy things get around here; we'll be lucky to get that, some days."

"Don't I know it," Donna said, wincing internally as she took an hour out of her daily routine. Fortunately, Josh's condo was closer to the White House than her old apartment was. "If we try and schedule it for after work, we'll end up having to cancel more often than not, at least for the immediate future. How about 7:30 in the morning?"

Josh winced. "The First Lady's staff doesn't need to work late _that_ often, does it? Mrs. Bartlett's chief of staff kept far better hours than Leo or I did."

"Yes, I don't like how it cuts into our mornings, either, Josh," Donna said. They were just beginning to settle into a routine, and the mornings were her favorite parts of the day; the two of them curled up in bed or on Josh's couch, C-SPAN in the background, getting a head start on the day's work. "And you may be right about my schedule being more regular _once I get settled in_. But right now, I am trying to be Mrs. Santos' entire staff—well, with Annabeth's help—_and_ trying to get to know Mrs. Santos and what she needs me and her staff to be doing, _and_ trying to hire the rest of the staff. Right now, I'm working almost as many hours as you are."

"Seven-thirty works for me," Toby said. "We can change it later, if we need to. I've looked over the warehouse they found; it's actually not that bad. But I found something that's closer, and we don't need quite that much space. Top floor of a mechanic shop. With the cars and things down below, they won't hear us thumping around, and if they do they won't care. It'll be set up by Monday."

"Monday it is," Donna said.

"Great," Josh said with a grin. "We just scheduled your first superhero lessons. No chance of spandex and go-go boots?"


End file.
